Not Even Hope's Ghost Stops Here
by misanthrope1
Summary: War isn't the only player in town. Warning: Slash


It's in the X-ray room where I find Hunnicutt. It seems to be his abode of late, continually glaring at a certain set of X-rays, trying to deny Nature by willing it away. "Brooding again, Hunnicutt?" I declare. "You are supposed to be on duty, you know. Relieving me."

"I'm sorry, Charles, I was thinking." Hunnicutt slides the films into an envelope.

"Why do you insist on staring at those same X-Rays? He's gone home. Henderson will get a biopsy and be well or not. He's off your hands."

"I know."

I look closer at him, see an odd darkness in his eyes. "Have you heard from him?" I ask.

He hands me a report. I review it hurriedly. "It is osteosarcoma," I murmur. "I'm sorry, Hunnicutt."

"So am I." He shoves the report in the file.

"It's progressing then?"

"Ever hear of a cancer that doesn't?"

"He'll get good care. There are new treatments every year."

"I've already checked into them. There is no cure, no real treatment. There's a life expectancy of three, maybe four years. With treatment, maybe even five."

"And there may be a cure in those years."

"I didn't know you believed in Santa Claus, Charles."

He leaves then and I watch him go. Over the next few weeks, he seems to regain his equilibrium. Of course he has Pierce by the dogtags nearly every second. How no one else in this fleapit can guess what's going on between those two continually baffles me. They are discreet, yet it's blatantly obvious to anyone of real intelligence. I acknowledged it only once, seeking a few simple favors. It was Hunnicutt who turned on me like a wolf, reminding me of several indiscretions of my own. I haven't mentioned it since and they try to keep their trysts fairly surreptitious. Yet Hunnicutt still broods, often staring at the fire in the stove for long minutes when Pierce is off at Post Op.

"Now what is torturing your feeble intellect?" I demand one dreary night.

"Just a puzzle. Do you think it's easier on the children here if their parents are killed from birth, if they never know them or if one is killed later in their lives?"

I blink. "I beg your pardon?"

"For a child, is it easier to have a parent die when they don't remember or is it better to at least have the memories and remember the pain?"

"Any particular reason for this line of questioning?"

"Just thinking."

"Is this the question you were annoying the good father with?"

"I asked." He sips the horrid alcohol they brew.

I inhale the aroma of my cognac. "I imagine it would be easiest if they never remembered their parents," I carefully say. "Of course, it would be dreadful but not as painful."

"You can't miss what you never had."

'I think they would miss their parents," I say. "But they wouldn't _know_ exactly what they were missing. Would you rather be born blind or struck blind?"

"Neither, thank you." Hunnicutt sighs. "There are no easy answers."

"Why are you so philosophical all of a sudden?"

"Despite your delusions of grandeur, Charles, you're hardly the only one who has cracked open a book."

"The Hardy Boys hardly count." Hunnicutt glares and then spits out a line from Voltaire. I raise my eyebrows. "Intriguing. Quoting movies?"

"I read Voltaire, Virgil, Homer, Shakespeare, Milton, Poe."

"Now Poe I'd believe of you."

"He's classic."

"Horror," I sneer.

"Mystery, too."

"I'd think you see enough horror in this pesthole."

His face blanks. "I do. We all do."

"Then you should revel in my Mozart and Beethoven."

"I used to occasionally. Not on a daily basis."

"Philistine."

He shrugs and returns to staring into the fire. I play my music, lose myself in my only refuge until a knock interrupts us. "Captain Hunnicutt?"

"Come in, Klinger."

The company clerk and scrounge slides in, laden with a box. "Your medical journals, sir." He hands Hunnicutt several journals.

"Thanks. How was Tokyo?"

"Aces. I also got Captain Pierce's magazines and your records, your Majorness."

"Thank you, Max." I carefully take the discs from him. "What is that?" A large envelope rests in the box along with several books.

"Captain Hunnicutt's mail. Someone fancy. Hill, Hill, and Smithers."

"Thanks." Hunnicutt grabs the envelope.

"Lawyers, Hunnicutt? Are you finally being sued for impersonating a doctor?"

"Summoned to be a witness at your paternity trial," he retorts. "My books?"

"Yeah. _Wuthering Heights, Stories and Poems_ by Poe, and _Faust_. No offense, sir, but boring!"

Hunnicutt smiles slightly. "Something to read."

"_Wuthering Heights_? A bit feminine, isn't it?" I snigger.

"It's classic," he says.

"Give me Sam Spade any day," Klinger mutters.

I snort. Hunnicutt retreats to his chair. Klinger rolls his eyes and leaves. Hunnicutt opens the envelope, flips through a sheaf of papers, then tucks them back into the envelope. Again he stares at the fire, tosses a few chunks of wood in it. "Everything all right, BJ?" I ask.

He looks at me. "Fine," he quietly says in the tone that means "anything but fine but I'm not talking about it." "Just a lot on my mind."

He says nothing more that night, merely stares into the flames and sips a drink. Late that night, I am awakened by soft squeakings. Fearing vermin, I look around hastily. The noise comes from strangled sobs, tiny whimpers in the night. I blink. Pierce coils around Hunnicutt, holding him tight while Hunnicutt's face is buried in Pierce's neck and shoulder. I can't hear Pierce's words, just murmurs. I do see his hands hold Hunnicutt tight. I close my eyes. I would do them no good.

The next morning I wake to find Pierce still wrapped around Hunnicutt. Pierce jerks awake when I stand, sliding carefully from Hunnicutt's grasp. "Problems in Paradise?"

Pierce's eyes flash. "Just Hell catching up with him."

"Pierce, I couldn't care if you were fornicating with goats. Some do care, however. You may wish to be a bit more circumspect."

"He needed me." He looks at Hunnicutt with worry. "Thanks, Charles."

"Just be careful."

"Has he been acting odd?"

"That's a given," I snort.

"Odder than normal."

"He received something from attorneys," I say. Pierce's face bleaches.

"Oh, God..."

"He read it and just shut down. Said he was fine."

Pierce looks torn between waking Hunnicutt and ripping apart his footlocker. I watch him pace then I leave as Hunnicutt stirs. I sit down by Potter and eat, across from Margaret and the good father. Hunnicutt and Pierce appear about 10 minutes later, Pierce looking disgruntled but not frantic. "Morning, gents," Potter says.

"Morning, Colonel." Hunnicutt sits, sips coffee.

"You look horrible. Have you slept?" Margaret asked.

"Hard night," Hunnicutt replies.

"Klinger says you got mail from attorneys," Potter says. "Everything ok, son?"

Pierce looks momentarily gleeful while Hunnicutt's fingers turn white as he clenches his coffee cup. "Just some paperwork," Hunnicutt replies.

Potter eyes him and Hunnicutt drinks his coffee, avoiding everyone's gaze. "All right. If you want help, let me know."

"Thanks, Colonel."

Pierce mutters to Hunnicutt and he smiles slightly.

Over the next few weeks, he gets even odder, pouring over his second hand books whenever he's not closeted with Pierce. When he's in Post Op one night, Pierce fiddles with _Wuthering Heights_. "So this is what an intellectual reads," he says.

"What Hunnicutt reads. Hunnicutt and intellectual hardly belong in the same sentenance."

"Faust. Poe." He sets the books together. "Nothing alike."

"Whatever are you blathering about?'

"They're nothing alike. Goethe's _Faust,_ Poe's stories and Bronte's_ Wuthering Heights_."

"So? And you are missing the obvious. They are slightly connected. Faust has a devil, Poe has goblins and ghosts, and _Wuthering Heights_ has a ghost."

"Supernatural. Have to give it to you, Charles, I didn't see that."

"Of course not. I read."

"Ha, ha." Pierce begins riffling Hunnicutt's footlocker.

"It isn't there." I pour a glass of cognac.

"You don't even know what I'm looking for."

"You're looking for the attorney's letter. It's in Potter's safe."

"Shows what you know. I just want some clean socks. How do you know where it is?"

"Max told me. Hunnicutt went to Potter the day after he got it."

"Does he know what it is?"

"Unfortunately, no." I glance at him. "He hasn't told you?"

Pierce shakes his head. "Says it's a family matter and taken care of. I thought lawsuit, God forbid, a divorce, but he said no."

"Then leave the poor man be. You're worse than his mother."

Pierce jerks. "That's odd," he mumbles.

"What?"

"He was asking about my mother."

"Hasn't she passed away?" I carefully asked.

"When I was 10." Hawkeye frowns thoughtfully. The door slams in the wind and Hunnicutt comes in, teeth chattering.

"It's freezing," he complains, rubbing his gloved hands. Pierce pats his cot and Hunnicutt huddles next to him.

"Don't get any ideas," I warn.

"Calm yourself, Charles," Pierce snorts. "It's for warmth."

"Potter said to get all the sleep we can. Fighting on Hill 402 again." Hunnicutt yawns and Pierce rests a hand on his back. Envy stabs through me. While we three are close, Heaven forbid, even friends, it's nothing compared to what those two share.

"When are they due?"

"Five, six hours." Hunnicutt yawns again. Pierce gently shoves him and he heads for his bunk. He removes his boots and falls asleep in moments. I pull my blankets tight. The trucks and choppers arrive several hours later. It's a typical 4077th mess, a chilling 13 hours of surgery, low on everything but wounded. Hunnicutt surprisingly finishes first. Potter and Pierce are elbow deep in their last patient and I am closing mine. "Anyone need help?" Hunnicutt asks.

"We're OK," Pierce says. "Charles?"

"I need no assistance."

"Go on, Hunnicutt," Potter says. "We'll all be done in a bit."

He leaves. I hear a minor thump and Klinger races in. "Sirs, we have a problem!"

"What?" Potter and Pierce chorus.

"Captain Hunnicutt! I think he broke his leg!"

"Hell's bells! Major Houlihan..."

"On it, sir." She darts off.

"And I'm finished," I say.

"Take care of Hunnicutt," Potter orders.

"Really, Colonel, shouldn't Hunnicutt be old enough to walk by himself?"

"Just do it, Winchester. Pierce and I are wrapped in intestine."

"If he can wait, I'll do it," Pierce says.

"I can handle a sprained ankle," I sneer.

In the changing area, Hunnicutt sits on the bench, Margaret unlacing his blood encrusted right boot. "It's OK," he snaps.

"Don't be ridiculous, Captain," she calmly says. She tries to ease off the boot and Hunnicutt jerks. He bites down on his lip and his face turns white. "I'm sorry," she says.

"Hurry!"

She yanks, he yelps, and she touches the ankle. Even through the blood spotted sock, I can see the swelling and Hunnicutt gasps. "Just sprained," he breathes.

"It's broke," she states. She peels off the sock and shakes her head at the already puffing ankle. "Klinger, get a wheelchair."

"You got it, Major."

I reach down, run my fingers over the heating flesh. I can feel a crack in the bone. "Wrap it," Hunnicutt growls.

"X-rays," I state. "Major Houlihan is correct. Whatever did you trip over? Or was it your own two feet?"

"I slipped."

He's sweating, ashen, and I realize he's in severe pain. "Major Houlihan, could you get me a local please?"

"Of course."

The X-rays show not one but two cracks, more severe than I thought. While still minor, it's not what I expected. "Splint it," Hunnicutt orders.

"I'm the doctor here, Hunnicutt." I glare at my wounded bunk mate. I splint and cast the injured ankle. "Be careful," I say as he grabs crutches.

"I'll be fine." He hobbles off.

I head for the miserable excuse for showers and clean up. Back at my tent, Hunnicutt is sleeping while Pierce watches him. "Bad break?" he asks.

"Just a minor broken bone," I say. "He'll be fine."

"That's it?"

"Yes. Now I'm getting some sleep."

Pierce nods, looking relieved. He lays down as well. I wake to the noises of a waking camp. "Rabble," I mutter.

"Relax, Major classist. Despite your ego, the world doesn't revolve around your sleep schedule."

"I was in surgery 13 hours!"

"So were they," Hunnicutt mutters from his pillow.

"Beej, hey! How are you?" Pierce sounds far too perky. I groan, sit up, notice Hunnicutt wincing as he does the same.

"I'm freezing, my ankle hurts, but I'm all right."

"How did you break your leg?"

"I didn't, I cracked my ankle," Hunnicutt corrects. "And I slipped, Hawk, landed wrong." He struggles into fatigues.

"Hey, wait a minute. I can help."

"I'm going to breakfast," I state. "The sugar in here will give one diabetes."

"Don't worry, Charles, nothing can sweeten your bitterness," Pierce quips.

"Or crustiness," Hunnicutt mutters. "Come on, Hawk."

At the mess tent, Pierce sits Hunnicutt and brings him a tray. We all eat relatively quietly save Father Mulcahy, chatting to Colonel Potter. "And how are you doing, BJ?' he asks.

"Huh? Fine, Father, just fine."

"I can order another surgeon," Potter suggested.

"I'm all right."

The next few days , Hunnicutt hobbles from the Swamp to Post Op and the Mess tent. I pay little attention until I try to find his X-rays to complete his files. "Klinger, where is Hunnicutt's X-rays?"

"Probably with him, Major. He was working with files last night."

"I can't believe this mess," I snap. "Hunnicutt did this?"

"He's the one who was here. Between the late night phone calls and requests for books and journals, he practically lives here."

"Calls? Who does he call?'

"I don't ask, Major. He makes the calls. All I heard was something about trials and three to five years. Must be some trial."

I begin flipping through the patient files, seeking Henderson's. I pull it out, flip through it and freeze.

No reports. No X-rays. No mention of osteosarcoma. Hunnicutt never told him.

Red fury fills me. I slam the file drawer shut and storm to the Swamp. How dare he not tell that young man he was dying? The wind howls around me, promising snow. I rip open the door. Hunnicutt and Pierce look up at me with curious eyes. "You lying fiend!" I yell.

"What?"

"Don't play dumb with me, you miserable excuse for a doctor! How dare you not tell that young man?"

"What are you raving about?" Pierce yells.

"Stay out of this, Pierce! This is between me and this cretinous Californian!"

"It's none of your business, Charles!" Hunnicutt snarls.

"He has osteosarcoma! He is dying! You have a duty to tell him!"

"Who? What is going on?" Pierce demands.

"Henderson. A patient from about a month ago. Hunnicutt discovered a spot on the X-ray. He showed me. It's osteosarcoma and he told me he told him. Yet his patient file says nothing!"

"Beej, what is he talking about?"

Hunnicutt's lips are thin and he shakes his head. "Nothing, Hawk. Winchester is confused." He staggers to his feet.

"I saw the reports, Hunnicutt! You've been on the phone at night conferring with doctors. All to alleviate your guilt over not telling that boy!"

"Henderson is fine, Charles!"

"Then whose X-rays are those?"

Hunnicutt's furious eyes turn dull and his face bleak. All the rage inside me drains out, as if someone had pulled out my internal organs and I sit on my cot as my legs give way. ""Oh, sweet God," I whisper.

"Charles, it's all right."

Pierce looks baffled. Hunnicutt sits down, slowly, awkwardly. "OK, can I get clued in now?" he demands. "Who are we taking about?"

"I'm sorry, BJ," I mumble through numb lips.

Hawkeye stares at me and then at BJ. It must sink in, he must grasp it then and he shakes his head. "No. No!"

"Hawkeye, it'll be all right." BJ grabs Hawkeye's hand and tugs him down to sit beside him.

"This isn't real," Hawkeye says. "BJ, you can't have cancer."

"Hawkeye, I've already checked it out," Hunnicutt says. "It's there."

"No."

"What happened?" I ask.

Hunnicutt stands, pours a drink. I pull a bottle of fine whiskey from my footlocker. "Here," I say. "Have this."

"Thank you." BJ pours all of us a drink. "About a month and a half ago, my ankle ached. A lot. I x-rayed the ankle. There was a spot. I x-rayed again. Also I x-rayed my knee." He inhales. "Feathery spots. Osteosarcoma. That's when you found me in the X ray room, Charles. I didn't want anyone to know it was me, so I grabbed Henderson's name." He sips his whiskey. "You helped confirm it."

"I'm hardly an expert in cancer, BJ," I say.

"I know. Neither am I. So I wrangled a 48 hours pass to Seoul, got a biopsy done."

"The weekend pass without me," Pierce says. "The one where you supposedly sprained your ankle." BJ nods.

"I had to explain the bandage. I got the results a week later. Confirmed. And it was in the ankle and knee. It's malignant." Hunnicutt swirls his whiskey. "I've spoken to any number of doctors. Everyone figures three, four years. Five at the outside." He gulps his whiskey, pours another.

Pierce stares at him and I can see him tremble. "Why didn't you tell me?!"

"Because I wanted to be wrong," Hunnicutt says. "I wanted to be mistaken. I was sure it was a mistake." He's shaking now, staring at his best friend and lover and I get the feeling I should leave. "When I knew, when I realized how much time I actually had--how do I tell you that I'm dying? We fight it every day and every night, have clothes soaked in death and hey, guess what? It's not only all around us, on us, it's inside me. And no matter what anyone does, I can't win this battle."

"There are treatments," I remind him.

"He's right. Drugs, surgeries..."

"Palliatives." He sips his drink. "I know the treatments. I know the drugs."

"Beej, you can't give up," Hawkeye said. I can hear the desperation in his voice. "At home, there are dozens of treatments..."

"I'm not going home."

I choke on my whiskey. Pierce stares at Hunnicutt. "What?!"

"I've been through this over and over in my head. I've thought of every angle, every question. I do more good here, in one month, than in a year at home. And since I only have a little bit of time, I might as well spend it doing well."

"Dr. Schweitzer, we can do this without you!" Pierce is vicious, cutting.

"I've made up my mind, Hawk."

"Really? And how about Peg? Erin? You remember them, your wife and kid?"

"I remember." Hunnicutt sounds grim. "I have that in hand."

"BJ, if you are correct, you're dying," I remind. "Surely you wish to spend what little time is left with your loved ones."

"I know what I'm doing." He looks at Pierce then me and I see his eyes are clear. "I will not have my daughter living with the pain of a dying parent, to get to know someone and lose them almost immediately. No. Better the pain of an unremembered father than the agony of losing one so soon. You can't really miss what you never had."

"That's unfair," I retort. "That was philosophy, natterings. That was theory."

"That's what you were asking everyone about," Hawkeye said. "About my mother, about the orphans. Believe me, BJ, I am glad every day for that little bit of time I had with my mom."

"And you're mad at her, too. Come on, Hawkeye, think about it. Born blind or struck blind? Which one is better? I'm choosing born blind. Erin will miss a father, Erin will stare at a photo and wonder what I was like but she won't miss _me_. And Peg will be fine. It'll hurt but she's been without me awhile now. And.." his voice softens. "I don't want her to watch me die."

"But it's ok for us, right?" Pierce gestures at me, then himself. "We can handle the pain, the wasting away of bone and muscle. It's OK for us to suffer, right?"

"No, it's not." BJ's voice was velvet soft. "I didn't want anyone to know."

"I'm your best friend, dammit!"

"You're everything."

Now I know I should leave. I stand up, slip outside. The cold night air hits like a fist and I hurry to Post Op where I check my patients. After around an hour, I return to my tent. Hawkeye is sleeping, BJ watching over him. I creep in and BJ looks up at me with worn, red rimmed eyes. "Hey," he says softly.

"Hello. Is he all right?"

"Fine. Sorry about the news." He stands, limps to me. "I wanted to keep it secret."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." He looks at Hawkeye. "It just is, Charles. I drew the unlucky card." He sighs, runs his fingers through his hair. "And if it gets bad for Hawk or you, I'll transfer."

"And when this carnage ends?"

BJ smiles sadly. "I guess I go traveling." I must have looked confused. "I meant what I said, Charles. If the war ends before I do, I'll go wander. "

"So you'll die alone? How gothic of you."

He continues that sad little smile. "I have a lot I want to do before I leave this world."

As doctors in this hellhole, we see death every day. But not like this. Not the certain knowledge that inside a person's body, a bomb is ticking. BJ eyes me as if he hears my thoughts. "We're all going to die, Charles. I just know a little better when mine is."

"True." I feel amazingly awkward. "I have colleagues at Boston General. I'll contact them."

"Thank you." BJ looks at his watch. "I have Post Op." He limps to his bunk, pulls on his coat. He reaches down, caresses Pierce's hair in an affectionate gesture, and heads to Post Op.

I sit down, start a letter to a colleague of mine, then pick up a letter from my sister. Honoria turned 27 a week ago. I read again how she celebrated her birthday and I run my fingers over the simple words. 27 years old. Hunnicutt is only a year older.

I turn the letter over in my hands. What would I have done if given a death sentence at age 28? What would anyone do? I look at Pierce again. "Is he all right?" Pierce mumbles without opening his eyes.

"Post Op," I reply. "I'm surprise you're awake."

"We need to get him home."

"He's already said no."

"He's crazy." Pierce opens his eyes and sits up.

I pick up my sister's letter. "What's that?"

"My sister. She turned 27 last week."

Pierce understands immediately. "There are treatments, Charles."

"You know as well as I do there aren't many. Just as BJ does. Besides, if you try to force him, I think he may go home but he won't go to Peg and Erin. He's determined to die alone, to not inflict himself on anyone."

"How wonderfully Christian of him," Pierce snaps. "Remind me to get him a cross."

I look at him. "Hawkeye, he wants to stay. I think we should respect that."

"Why?"

"Because he needs something. I believe that something is you."

Pierce stares at me, dark blue eyes glowing. "What?"

I sigh. "Don't make me explain everything. You know he loves you."

"Love can't heal him."

"Not his body. Maybe his heart."

Pierce is quiet then. "I need to speak to my father," he finally says, as if to himself.

I lay down, stare at the canvas ceiling. I'm the oldest of the surgeons save Potter. I'm 38. Pierce is 32. I'm older now than Hunnicutt will ever be. I lay awake a long time.

When I wake, I find Hunnicutt sleeping with Pierce. I sigh. Pierce opens his eyes, gently slides from Hunnicutt. He dresses quickly. "I need to call," he murmurs.

"You'll be calling with a blue discharge if you don't watch it," I hiss.

"I'll be careful."

We both call, write letters. There are recommended treatments, diets, quack theories yet Hunnicutt was grimly correct. There is no cure. As the days drag into weeks into months, I can almost forget Hunnicutt's disease save for the occasional shadow in his eyes and Pierce's sometimes manic worry. His ankle heals and he seems perfectly fine. Hunnicutt never mentions his disease. What he and Pierce talk about, I don't know. I do see him become more introspective. Occasionally Potter studies him but as far as I know, he says nothing. I often wonder if it's painful until after an bone numbing 24 hour stretch in OR. All of us are reeling with exhaustion. Hunnicutt is literally staggering, stumbling behind Pierce and I. Pierce turns to help and I see Hunnicutt is actually hobbling, favoring his once broken ankle. Pierce and I half carry him inside. "Let me see," Pierce rasps.

"Nothing to see," BJ snaps. "It just aches."

"Then let me see."

Pierce runs his fingers over Hunnicutt's ankle. It looks thicker, a tad misshapen. Curiously, I touch it, feel distorted bone under my fingertips. "Are you done?" Hunnicutt peevishly asks.

"It's growing," Pierce says.

"A little. It's also strained. Go to sleep, you two." Hunnicutt burrows under his blankets.

Both of us retreat. When I wake, Pierce is sleeping and Hunnicutt is walking normally. I look at him, noting a faint sheen to his eyes. "Painkillers?" I ask.

"A few," he says. "It's not so bad, Charles."

And to that, I can say nothing. It's more than bad, it's hideously wrong and obscene, like this war itself, yet Hunnicutt simply dresses and smiles at Pierce as he wakes. They leave for breakfast after I reassure them I'll be there in a moment. I realize in that odd, twisted moment these are BJ's happy times, he's content with his tiny lot.

And all I can do is weep.


End file.
